


The Grisco Kid

by HidingintheInkwell



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Grissom makes a good Daddy, Non-Sexual Age Play, Other, Post Grave Danger, Post-Episode s5e15 King Baby, secret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26781805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HidingintheInkwell/pseuds/HidingintheInkwell
Summary: It hadn’t surfaced right away. No, right away he was wondering just what kind of person could actually do these kinds of things, who’d want to be treated like an infant, wearing diapers and bibs, shitting themselves just for the sake of being changed… it didn’t sit well with him. But then he and Grissom had gone to that “Adult Baby” store, and the woman behind the counter had called Grissom Nick’s “daddy”, and while a large part of him had recoiled, the man was his boss, there had been a tiny part that almost seemed to approve.
Relationships: Gil Grissom & Nick Stokes
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

What Eiger had done to Tanya had been sick, twisted. He’d blackmailed her, made her change his diapers and breastfeed him like some kind of 400 lb baby, all to fill some perverted fantasy of his for five years. Nick could only guess at what all he put the poor woman through, and as much as he knew he shouldn’t take sides, he couldn’t completely blame her for what she’d done. She’d wanted a way out, she’d just gone about it wrong. But there was a part of Nick, a part he tried relentlessly to bury, that saw some of the draw. It hadn’t surfaced right away. No, right away he was wondering just what kind of person could actually do these kinds of things, who’d  _ want _ to be treated like an infant, wearing diapers and bibs, shitting themselves just for the sake of being changed… it didn’t sit well with him. But then he and Grissom had gone to that “Adult Baby” store, and the woman behind the counter had called Grissom Nick’s “daddy”, and while a large part of him had recoiled, the man was his  _ boss _ , there had been a tiny part that almost seemed to approve. 

When he excused himself to look around, saw the different things people with this fetish indulged in, utilized, that part got louder. “ _ You could have this,”  _ it whispered as he examined an adult sized onesie tossed over the railing of a crib. “ _ Grissom could be your daddy, and you could be his little boy. _ ”

”I already have a dad,” he’d told the voice, “and if I ever get to the point in my life where I need a diaper, might as well take me out back and shoot me.” But late afternoon the next day, long after his shift was over and he’d returned to his apartment, he pulled out his computer and googled infantilism. Read up on everything he could about age play, and tried to convince himself it was for research. 

___________________________

He tried to move on, tried to forget about his research, the nagging thoughts that popped up at the most random and often inopportune moments. It was beginning to drive him crazy to the point where he was getting distracted in the labs. Just the other day they’d been working the case of a missing child and he’d been swabbing the kid’s stuffed bear when the notion to cuddle with it had popped into his head. If that hadn’t been the worst part, he almost had, would have if the lab had been empty, forensics be damned. He’d caught Greg watching him with a funny look on his face, and had quickly set down the toy and excused himself. He’d done most of the work, Greg could finish the last of the swabs. He’d hidden in the bathroom for nearly an hour trying to get his mind back under control. 

It had been weeks since the Eiger case, and he couldn’t believe what he was about to do. First day off in nearly a month and his team thought he was going up toward Zion National for some hiking. Instead he found himself stepping into the air conditioning of the Adult Baby store. To his relief, the place was mostly empty, a couple people who may or may not have been together wandering the recesses, looking at grown sized t-shirts printed with childish robots and dinosaurs, and high chairs so big they made Nick wonder  _ how  _ they were functional. The things were  _ huge!  _ The “parent” would have to be bigger than Andre Roussimoff if they really wanted to use one to treat the “kid” like a kid. The clothes at least made some sense, he’d known some guys back in Dallas who wore graphic tees that bordered on the childish side, and he’d known a kid back in school who wore My Little Pony shirts at least once a week. When he’d come in with Grissom, he’d been curious enough to touch some of the clothes. They’d been soft, ridiculously so. Like the plush blankets his mother had given all of them one Christmas. He could admit to himself now that he saw the appeal in wearing something like that often. 

The woman they’d met last time was working the counter again, Madge, his brain supplied. She was reading some gardening magazine, but looked up when he approached, smile turning from stereotypical customer service “how can I help you” to a warmer one when she recognized him. He knew his nervousness was printed all across his face, but to his relief she didn’t mention it, didn’t make a big deal about him being there. Instead she just motioned him closer, leaning over the counter for a little more implied privacy. “You’ve got some questions, don’t you, sweetheart.” Nick nodded, blush heating his cheeks as he cast his gaze around. To his relief both of the other customers seemed otherwise occupied. “Yes ma’am.” He opened his mouth to try and explain, only to snap it shut again when he realized any sort of explanation would come out as a complete jumbled mess. 

Madge smiled at him sympathetically, and he wondered just how many people like him she’d seen wander into the store. “My break is in fifteen minutes,” she told him, sitting back and picking up her magazine. “Why don’t you take a look around while you wait? Infants are up front, and the ages get older the closer to the back you go.” He nodded his thanks, turning away and surveying the room. He could immediately rule out the front of the store; shelves of bottles and adult depends printed in childish patterns making him cringe as they dredged up memories of changing his nieces and nephews diapers, his grandfather who’d suffered a stroke when Nick was eight and had ended up incontinent, and strongest of all were the memories of what they’d found in Eiger’s secret room. He shoved the memories away, stomach roiling threateningly. No, he had no desire to be treated like an infant. 

So instead he turned and meandered toward the back, past overalls and jeans with velcro fastenings, onesies and footie pajamas and t-shirts that looked like someone had taken his two-year-old nephew’s wardrobe and put it through some kind of growth machine. Mix those with the oversized high chairs and the cribs that looked more suited to bunk beds, he got the feeling he’d wound up in some weird variation of Honey I Shrunk the Kids. As he made his way toward the pack corner, he passed jeans that looked like the ones he wore but with the cuffs rolled to show off prints of dog paws and bones or space invaders, packs of what his niece loved to call “big girl panties” showing off princesses or flowers, boxer briefs with dinosaurs and puppies. The space beyond the racks had been arranged into a display playroom, one of those carpets with the train tracks criss-crossing over the polyester blend, fire truck and train engine abandoned on what surely would have been a collision course. 

A rocking horse the size of a Shetland pony sat idle next to a comfortable looking rocker, and on it’s otherside, wedged into the corner beneath yet another shelf of pullups and sippy cups, was a basket full of stuffed toys. Some looked old, the ones he remembered being handed down from his older siblings when they’d outgrown the need for fuzzy secret keepers, and he figured this place must take donations as well as their own stock. Others looked brand new, ranging in size from beanie baby bears and Valentine’s Day “I Love You Beary Much” to some that were so large they could have been the size of a small child. He sifted through them curiously, pushing aside rag dolls and dogs, bears and fish. Some were so soft they felt like nothing when he squeezed them, others made sounds or rattled, and still others had a bit of weight to them. 

He continued to sift through the animal pit, caught up in the memories of his own childhood friends. Most of them had been hand-me-downs; G.I. Joes and Power Rangers and matchbox cars from his brother, slightly misshapen stuffed animals and Barbies from his sisters. The sister closest to his age, Annalise, would rope him into hosting tea parties that more often than not ended in a court case or a murder, sometimes both as a jealous G.I. Joe came home to find Flight Attendant Barbie cheating on him with He-Man. Jealous G.I. Joe would then call in the Trojan Potato Head Man to unleash his hoard of green Army men to take out Barbie and He-Man. Strawberry Shortcake would preside over court, and when G.I. Joe was proclaimed guilty, execution would be delivered via a several yard plunge from the stop of their staircase before everyone would be taken out to their mother’s garden to be buried. One too many tea parties like that had Annalise banning him from any further ones and confiscating half the Barbies and his foot high Batman. 

Something with grey, curly hair caught his attention, dredging him from his memories and back to the present. Curious, he gave it a tug, unearthing it from the mound of animals and sending a couple of the smaller ones flopping over the sides. It was a rabbit with short and stubby arms and legs, but long ears flopped over the CSI’s hands. It was soft like velvet, but it wasn’t overly squishy like some of the others were. It was firm, but with enough give to not be hard, and had enough weight to make it rest comfortably on his palm. From the top of its head to the bottom of what could loosely be considered its feet it was roughly a foot tall, and it had shiny black glass eyes and a stitched pink nose, and there was a sky blue ribbon tied around its neck. He fondled one of its long ears, rubbing the soft cotton and fur between his calloused fingers. The urge to clutch it against his chest was back, even stronger than it had been the last time. 

“Looks like you found a friend,” Madge commented, voice low to keep from startling him. He blushed hot and went to shove the animal back in with the rest, but a soft hand stopped him. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You can hang onto him. I’m sure his friends won’t mind.” Nick glanced over at the elderly woman, blood still heating his neck as he let her guide the animal back toward his chest. She was smiling at him, a soft kind of smile he could remember his mother giving him when he was much younger and sick with a bad cold that had been going around. He offered her a small smile back, barely more than a shy quirk of the lips, but it was evidently enough for Madge. The woman gently took his free hand and led him through the Employees Only entrance and into a small but relatively comfortable employee lounge. 

“Go ahead and have a seat, sweetheart. It was Nick, wasn’t it?” Nick nodded and took the motioned seat, still clutching onto the rabbit under the table. Madge bustled about, pulling a bright pink lunch box out of the fridge and ordering two drinks from the vending machine before taking the seat across from Nick. “So, Nick, what questions do you have?” she asked, pulling out a PB&J from her lunch box and pushing one of the bottles of water toward him. He took it gratefully, his mouth suddenly parched. After a couple gulps, he opened his mouth to voice the questions, but none came out, leaving him gaping like a fish. His heart was hammering in his ears, self-doubt curling in his gut like a serpent. What was he even doing here? He’d tried so,  _ so  _ hard to shove these thoughts away, and now here he was at the scene of the crime. He could feel his eyes burn as he glared at a stain on the table, trying desperately to keep himself together. 

“Nick, honey, look at me. Look at Madgie,” the woman was saying, soft hand cupping at his cheek. He blinked furiously, part of his brain angry at how much he was appreciating Madge’s touch in that moment. “Nick, sweetie, it’s alright. No one here is going to judge you, sweetheart. It’s just me.” She gave Nick a long moment to calm down, rubbing at his cheek with her withering hand. “Nick, can you look at me please?” It wasn’t so much a request as it was an order, but it didn’t sound that way. Taking a deep breath, he looked up, meeting nonjudgmental blue eyes. “Sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. Madge just smiled. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Why don’t you tell me what’s going through that noggin of yours?” 

Nick took a deep breath, grounding himself. “What… what  _ is  _ this thing? I’ve done research, but I can’t seem to get any real answers. I just want to know what’s wrong with me…” he trailed off, avoiding Madge’s frown. She’d dropped her hand from his cheek, returning it to her food, but her eyes remained locked on his face. “Nick,” she started, voice low but firm, “the first thing you need to know is that there is nothing wrong with you.  _ Nothing.  _ It’s called Age Play, sometimes Infantilism or ABDL. For some, it’s a fetish, but for others it’s a form of therapy. For  _ both _ participants. In almost all situations there is a caregiver, or “Big”, and then there is the “Little”.” 

Nick nodded along in understanding. A lot of what he was hearing he’d read online, but it was still nice to hear it coming from an actual person. “So which are you?” he asked, feeling his heart rate starting to slow. Madge chewed a bite of her sandwich before answering. “I’m what many refer to as a Big, though my Little called me Mommy.” 

“You had a Little?” Nick asked, taking another sip of water. Madge nodded. “Yes, his name was Evan. He moved to Chicago with his wife a few years back, but he saw me for a long time for therapy. His mother and I had been long time friends, but she died while he was in college. The stress took its toll after that, and he found he enjoyed the regression. I found I enjoyed getting to be a mommy again, even just symbolically.” She was smiling at the table, but it was a sad kind of smile. One Nick was unfortunately familiar with. “You were a mom?” he asked. “A real mom?” Madge nodded, wiping at her eyes. “Yes, Kyle. it was a long time ago. He’d been born with a blood disorder. Doctors did their best, but he passed just before his eighth birthday. He would have been about your age.” 

Nick reached out a hand and laid it over Madge’s, giving it a squeeze. “I’m sorry,” he told her. The woman patted his hand with her free one. “That’s alright, dear. It’s all in the past now. Evan still comes to visit on holidays. His wife is a wonderful, understanding woman, and now Evan gets the chance to be a daddy himself with those two little girls they have. And I get to work here, helping others; whether they be old pros, or new and confused about the thoughts in their heads.” Nick blushed at the implication, but he was smiling. It felt good to have someone tell him he wasn’t crazy. “I should let you get back to your lunch,” he said, rising and moving to leave the stuffed rabbit on the table for the woman to return later, but she followed him up and once again stopped him with a hand on top of his. “Keep it, Nicky. Really.” She made sure he had his bewildered nod of agreement before releasing his wrist and pulling a pen and scrap paper out of her apron pocket. Jotting quickly in neat, loopy lettering, she handed it over. 

“What’s this?” Nick asked, taking it and glancing at the series of words and numbers. “It’s my address and phone number,” Madge replied, packing away the remnants of her lunch. “Why don’t you come by on Thursday. Anytime is fine, it’s my day off and I don’t usually entertain company. You can have a bit of time to think things over and we can discuss your thoughts in a little more detail. Sound alright?” Nick nodded, sticking the paper into his pocket and giving the woman a smile. “Yeah, yes ma’am, Thursday sounds good. I’ll likely be by after work, if that’s fine by you. And thank you, Madge. For everything.” 

The woman rounded the table and pulled him into a firm hug. “Of course, sweetheart! That’s what I’m here for!”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Nick was feeling much calmer by the time Thursday rolled around. He’d spent most of the week working in the labs, no pressing cases demanding his attention as of late. He’d sent Madge a quick message as he was clocking out, declining Warrick’s invitation to breakfast with the excuse of needing sleep and checking up on his parents. The other CSI had left him with a slap to the back and the two had clocked and left. 

Madge lived in a modest little house in the suburbs, a beautiful flower bed lining the walk from the drive to the front porch and a white swing hanging from the awning. As he walked up to the door, he could picture the older woman working in the flowers or relaxing on the swing with a glass of something cold. Madge answered almost immediately after he knocked, ushering him into the cool air conditioning of a comfortable living room. It wasn’t nearly as “Old Lady-ish” as he’d been expecting. Going off what he’d gleaned from the woman’s personality, he’d been expecting something along the lines of his great aunt’s house; full of cats and furniture from the 30s that were covered in dingy floral prints and plastic slip covers, the walls covered in fleur de lis wallpaper and pictures of more cats, the air heavy and musty with the smell of mothballs and cheap floral perfume and a glass front cabinet full of china dolls with eyes that followed you. When he’d been a child his Great Aunt Edith’s house had always left him with nightmares of too many staring eyes. 

Madge’s living room in comparison was surprisingly modern. A dark blue overstuffed couch was backed to a wall opposite a large flat screen, the TV stand full of movies and books and photos of family members. There was a rather large kitty condo set up in front of the window, but its only occupants were two rather fat tabbies stretched out in sunny spots. The only florals in the room were a few watercolor paintings on the seafoam green walls and a bouquet of fresh cut flowers centered on the coffee table. Leaving his shoes by the door, he followed her in, taking an offered seat on the couch while his hostess got them both a glass of lemonade. 

“How are you today, Nick? Have you had time to sort through your thoughts?” The CSI nodded, taking a sip of the just a little too sweet lemonade before setting the glass down. “I’m fine, ma’am, thank you.” Madge smiled warmly. “Please, Nick, call me Madge. Or Madgie, if you want to. I think we should start with a baseline of what you might be interested in. Now I noticed the other day when you came in that you avoided the infants section. Am I right in guessing that isn’t your area of interest?” Nick pulled a face and shook his head. “No ma’am. No offense to anyone, but the idea of giving over that much control to another person just… no.” Madge chuckled. “Yes, I understand. Some people enjoy the release it gives them, having another take care of them so completely. My Evan was never one of them either. Whenever he needed to regress, his headspace was usually around the age of three or four.”

Nick nodded, eyes straying to one of the photos resting on the entertainment center. A young blond man maybe a little younger than Nick had one arm flung around Madge’s shoulders. He wore a scooby doo graphic tee and his face was smeared with a chocolate ice cream goatee, matching imprint on one of Madge’s cheeks. Behind them was a giant ferris wheel. Framed next to the photo was the same young man, tousled hair now neatly combed, the start of a true beard dusting his jawline. He was dressed in a tux and holding the hands of a petite woman with curly red hair wearing a gorgeous wedding gown that flowed around her and gave her an ethereal appearance. The smiles on both their faces could have dimmed the sun. “That’s my Evan,” Madge said, following his line of sight. “That first one was taken at Coney Island. Evan had to go for work and he invited me to tag along. That other is him and his wife Jeanette on their wedding day.” 

“They look happy,” Nick commented. “Does she know about… you know.” Madge nodded. “Of course! Evan met her through work. They started dating, and before too long Evan felt comfortable enough to tell her about his interests. She had studied psychology in college and had found the whole thing rather fascinating, so Evan invited her over to sit in on one of our sessions, and then before we knew it he was popping the question!” 

Nick pondered that in silence for a long moment, sipping at his lemonade even as the sugar index made his teeth ache. He knew it wasn’t uncommon for people interested in certain fetishes to be hesitant to find someone interested in the same thing, and he could only imagine the relief when the person you were interested in understood and didn’t judge the thing you enjoyed. Madge had said some people did it for therapeutic reasons, and he’d read how Age Regression Therapy was often considered for adults who’d been victimized as children as a way of regaining some of that innocence they’d had stripped away from them. Nick had had a relatively normal childhood, but he’d also been the baby of the family. Most people assumed that as the baby he was doted on, but that wasn’t true. He was the youngest of  _ six.  _ Both of his parents had been into their forties when he’d been born, and he’d been an accident. A lot of his clothes had had to be bought new since his brother was over a decade older than him and most of his outgrown clothes had gone to charity, but a majority of his toys were hand-me-downs unearthed from boxes in the attic or the shed, and when things got busy in the house he was often forgotten until someone realized he wasn’t with them. 

His parents had tried, and he knew they loved him, but they’d already made names for themselves in their respective careers, and raising an infant had not been a part of that plan. He looked up to see Madge watching him with one of her sympathetic smiles. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Why don’t I show you Evan’s old room; we can work on helping you find where your headspace wants to go. That sound good?” Nick nodded and stood, following her down a hall and into a small, comfortable room with a blue E painted on the door. The walls were painted a grass green and covered in pictures of trees and insects and other things found in wooded areas, and the curtains over the window were patterned with tiger stripes. A white dresser was pressed against one wall with a wooden toy chest next to it. A nest of pillows and blankets took up one corner while a beanbag chair and bookshelf took up another. “Sometimes Evan would get sleepy while playing, so I’d put him down for a nap over there,” Madge explained, motioning to the pallet. “Why don’t you look around a bit, see if anything catches your interest. I’ll be in the kitchen fixing us a bite to eat, so just holler if you need me.” 

With that, Madge was leaving, pulling the door half way behind her. Nick was left alone in the room. Sitting down and pushing the feeling of  _ this is ridiculous  _ aside, he pulled a box of legos from the toy chest and started building, tension slowly leaking from his body. 

__________________________

One visit had turned into two, and before Nick even knew it was happening he found himself showing up at Madge’s house roughly once a week, time allowing. They would chat comfortably, talking about work or events going on while Nick wound down from his shift, and then they’d head back to what Nick was beginning to think of as the play room. Madge would leave him to get comfortable while she went and fixed lunch; usually peanut butter and jelly with the crusts cut off. Sometimes he’d get a bit drowsy and Madge would usher him over to the nest and cover him with a worn quilt, other times he wouldn’t be able to slip and they’d just head back into the living room and watch the news or some cheesy daytime television show. The most important thing to Nick, though, was that it helped. He found it easier to think when he could get away from his problems, especially after particularly troublesome cases. 

He mentioned to Madge one week that he’d found himself doing it in his own home, and she’d encouraged him that it was more than alright. The main point was that he felt safe and relaxed enough to let himself go. She often asked about the rabbit, whom Nick had named Lenny one night on as a joke. If he thought about it soon enough, Lenny would join him for the day, spending his shift in the car and then coming out to play when he got to Madge’s house. He was even comfortable enough to admit that some nights, particularly the bad ones, he would curl around the fuzzy grey creature and burrow with it under his blankets. 

He knew he’d changed at work too, though he thanked every god in belief that he wasn’t nearly as transparent as some believed. More than once he’d caught Sara or Warrick or Greg shooting him looks and smirks whenever he turned down an invite to breakfast or a club, and Catherine had pulled him to the side after they’d gotten back from a scene and told him that she was happy for him, and whoever the girl was she was lucky. Even Mandy had commented one day that he was looking happier; more relaxed. In fact, the only one who had yet to make any comment to Nick’s apparent change in behavior was Grissom. The younger CSI would look up sometimes and catch the older man watching him, sending a spiral of heat turning in his stomach, but the resident entomologist would say nothing, instead turning and walking away. His reactions (or lack thereof) nagged at the back of Nick’s mind, but the Texan did his best to shove it away. Sometimes Grissom saying nothing was better than Grissom saying something. Besides, as long as his work remained unhindered, there was nothing to worry about. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Grissom sat in his office staring down at his hands. Red dirt stained his hands like blood, residual venom from the ant bites still making his fingers tingle like he’d touched a live wire. He couldn’t get the images out of his head. Nick had been kidnapped. Nick had been  _ terrified. Nick had been ready to die…  _ When Warrick had knocked away the rest of the dirt and they’d seen the younger man pressing a gun against his own chin… Grissom clenched his hands into fists until his nails bit into his palms. He needed to get cleaned up. Warrick and Catherine had already gone with Nick to the hospital and he’d told them he’d meet them there. That had also been two hours ago. Catherine had called to check up on him. Nick was responding well to the steroids and antihistamines and had woken up briefly and asked about him. He’d told her to let the Texan know he’d be there a little later. 

Nick had seemed a bit different the last couple months; happier, more relaxed. It was a good look on the young CSI. He knew the others were running betting pools about who Nick might be dating and when they were going to meet her, but Grissom didn’t think so. He knew the way people acted when they were in love, and Nick wasn’t acting that way. Whatever it was though, it seemed to be doing the Texan some good, and Grissom was happy for him. Pushing himself to his feet, he headed for the mens room to wash up. The last thing he wanted was some poor hospital nurse to think he’d just killed someone. Or was coming down with something the CDC would need to be notified for.

Nick was alone when Grissom finally reached the hospital, a nurse explaining that the black man and the blonde woman had gone home, and the Judge and his wife were in the cafeteria getting something to eat. Grissom stepped up to the bedside, slow and steady beeping of the heart monitor a calming, if unnecessary, companion in the stillness. Nick was dozing restlessly, so Grissom took the abandoned seat next to the bed and studied the injured man. Small bites covered his exposed skin, some scabbing from rupture, others with the identifiable white head. Areas of his face, neck, and fingers were minorly swollen, but the  hydrocortisone cream the nurses had applied would take care of it soon enough. 

The steady beeping of the heart monitor faded into the background as Grissom zoned out, lost to his own thoughts. No one could say Nick was not a handsome man. Even looking like a smallpox victim he still had those boyishly good looks that had their female witnesses fawning over him. He remembered the thing with Kristy. The younger man just had such a big heart, it was nearly impossible to not fall for him in one way or another. 

A soft whimper drew his attention back to the hospital bed. Nick was shifting around restlessly again, brow pinched. “No…” he groaned, the beeping of the heart monitor increasing in pace.  _ Nightmare, _ Grissom thought, pushing himself to his feet and leaning over the railing. “Nick?” he said softly, resting a hand on the distressed man’s shoulder. “Nicky, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” Drug-hazed brown eyes blinked open, squinting against the too-bright lights. “Hey, Nicky,” Grissom said, offering the younger man a smile and getting a small one in return. “Hey Grisco…” he mumbles, eyes slipping shut again and his breath evened back out as he succumbed to the pull of the pain meds. Grissom stood there puzzled for a long moment. Nick had just called him  _ Grisco.  _ The best thing his mind could come up with was that it was some bastardized mashup of the nickname the younger man had given him, and the name he had for his father. 

_ It’s likely the toxins crossing wires in his brain,  _ he figured, returning to his seat.  _ He probably thought I was the judge for a moment, especially given me calling him Poncho while he was trapped.  _ Before he could mull it over any longer, he was interrupted by the arrival of the Judge and his wife, both looking tired but a little more refreshed after a bite to eat. He offered them both greetings and chatted briefly before excusing himself, figuring they would want to be there alone if their son woke up again. As he was heading out, however, he spotted a deja vu familiar figure stepping out of the giftshop. It was a stout, older woman with a foam of red hair curling around her head. She wore tan slacks and a dark purple blouse, and it took Grissom a moment to realize where he’d seen her before. It was the woman working the checkout counter when they’d gone to that Adult Infantilism store a while back. Madge, right? Or was it Marge… 

She was smiling, carrying a small arrangement of flowers and what appeared to be an old stuffed animal. Maybe she was here to see a sick grandchild? She wasn’t walking in the direction of the pediatrics ward, though. In fact, she almost appeared to be heading in the direction Grissom had just left. Curiosity getting the better of him, he followed her at a bit of a distance, vibrant red hair acting as a beacon as the petite woman wound her way through the crowd. He slowed as they neared Nick’s private room.  _ How does she know Nick?  _ He wondered, catching sight of the Judge and his wife a little ways down the hall talking to one of the doctors before watching the woman, Madge, he recalled, disappear through the doors. 

He hung back near the window, close enough to read their lips without fear of being caught by the room’s occupants or the elder Stokes’. Nick was awake again and sitting up. His eyes were still heavy but he appeared lucid, smiling warmly and greeting the woman, thanking her for the flowers as she positioned them on his bedside table. “Of course, Nicky, sweetheart,” Grissom read, watching as she pat one of his blanket covered knees. “And I brought you a special visitor. He’s been missing you since you’ve been gone.” 

The entomologist watched as the injured man’s eyes lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning when the older woman pulled the stuffed animal from behind her back. Nick’s smile was soft, almost childlike as he accepted the gift, handling it like it was a newborn bird or unstable bomb rather than an old stuffed animal. He watched as his CSI held the grey toy to his chest briefly before tucking it under the blankets at his side, almost like a kid would before going to sleep. 

Grissom turned away, mind reeling as he made his way back toward the exit. Somehow Madge from the fetish store knew Nick, evidently well enough to bring him flowers at the hospital. The stuffed animal was really what sent Grissom’s brain derailing. What was it, and why was she bringing it to him? And why had Nick treated it like it was the most precious thing in the world? It was like a puzzle, and he had neither the box it came in, nor any of the important pieces. Promising himself he’d investigate later, he climbed into his car and headed home to catch up on sleep. There would be plenty of time to get to the bottom of things later. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Grissom went by the hospital again the next day. A few academic journals and a case of a skeleton found in the wall of a homeowner who was renovating had helped to shove the strange interaction he’d seen into the farther corners of his mind. Nick was fully awake, swelling from the bites having gone down significantly, and was talking animatedly with his mother while a young blonde woman sat at the foot of his bed balancing a toddler. Mrs. Stokes greeted him as he stepped in, explaining that the Judge had flown back to Texas the night before, but had switched places with their youngest daughter, Annalise, and her daughter Jenny. Now that Grissom knew what to look for, he noticed the resemblance between Annalise and her brother in the eyes and shape of their noses. 

He greeted her warmly with a handshake before turning his attention to the younger CSI. Nick was looking a lot better, brown eyes alert and focused and bites scabbing over. He met Grissom’s attention with a smile and a quiet thank you before asking about the team and if there were any new and interesting cases he was missing out on. Grissom chuckled at his enthusiasm, glad it was not something he’d lost after his ordeal, and filled him in best he could while still being aware of little ears in the room. Jenny appeared to be more interested in playing with a worn grey bunny than she was in the adult conversations, though. It was whimsically shaped with overlong ears and over-short extremities, its grey fur worn in places and a pale blue ribbon tied around its throat. After a second Grissom recognized it as the one Madge had brought the other day. 

_ She must have brought it for Jenny, _ part of Grissom’s mind suggested.  _ Maybe she does toy repairs as a hobby. Nick must have reached out to her about fixing something on it and then told her his niece was coming to visit so she dropped it off.  _ It was a good argument, but as Grissom subtly watched the younger man, noting the way his eyes kept darting to the toy before returning to whomever was speaking at the moment, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and snatch it back from the toddler’s hands, he didn’t believe a single word that voice said. He kept quiet about it, though. Instead he asked about the Judge and what cases he’d been presiding over, and he got to know Annalise a little more, learning that she was a school teacher back in Texas and that her husband was a corporate attorney. “I just can’t seem to get away from the politics,” she joked, adjusting Jenny before she fell off the bed. 

He asked Nick if he knew when he was going to be discharged, telling him that by no means did he have to return to work immediately afterwards. He was entitled to some time to recover after what he’d been through. Nick chuckled and thanked him, saying that the doctors said he should be out the next day, but that he might go spend a week at home, reassure the rest of his family that he was alright. Grissom nodded, telling him to take his time recovering and not to rush back on their account before excusing himself. He was followed out by a chorus of goodbyes from the elder Stokes, and a distracted “Bye Bye, Mr. Grissy!” from Jenny, the sentiments curling his lips into a smile that followed him all the way back home. 

_____________________________

Just over a week later, Nick was striding into the lab looking back to his normal self, wide grin on his face as he was greeted with cheers and slaps to the back. Catherine pulled him into a tight hug and pecked him on the cheek, telling him how glad she was that he was back. Sara hugged him too, though it wasn’t nearly as warm as Catherine’s had been, and Warrick pulled him into a “bro hug” with a slap to the back, telling him to never do something like that again. Nick just chuckled and fist bumped with a promise to try, but Vegas was a crazy place full of crazy people. 

Grissom had stood back watching the interactions, taking mental notes. He’d had a week to mull over information about the younger man. With Warrick, Sara, and Greg, he acted the way he always had; greeting them warmly but in the friendly, almost fraternal way he always did. He knew Nick likely saw them as surrogates for his own siblings whenever he couldn’t go home for a while. But with Catherine, it was a bit different. Nick had always had the greatest respect for Catherine, asking about her mom and Lindsey whenever he thought about it and matching her offered hugs with a warm one of his own. This time, though, as Nick accepted the hug from the blonde woman, he seemed to sag into it a little more, like a puppet with strings being snipped.  _ Or like a kid with a trusted adult…  _ he realized, details starting to find their places in his giant mental puzzle. As Nick finished his rounds of greetings and turned to Grissom, smile wide as he shoved his hands into his pockets. It did not escape Grissom’s notice that the younger man made no move to reach out and initiate contact.  _ Interesting…  _

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Nick had been back almost two weeks, seemingly no worse for wear after everything that had happened, but Grissom had been keeping an eye on him anyway. His reactions around the others had been interesting; he still treated Warrick and Sara and Greg the way he always had, but he seemed a little softer around Catherine; a little more open. The term “childlike” was becoming less and less foreign in Grissom’s mind. Then he thought about the way Nick acted around  _ him.  _ Ever since the younger man had started working at the Lab, he’d practically carried a torch for the entomologist. He could still remember the early days when Nick’s every decision was based on trying to please his boss. The change that had happened when he’d stopped trying to justify every move had been akin to a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, and Grissom couldn’t have been more proud. 

Now, though, it was as though Nick was back to walking on eggshells. He’d light up like the casinos if Grissom paid him a compliment, but then he’d almost seem to catch himself and stiffen up like in his head he was berating himself for reacting like that. And then he’d excuse himself as quickly as possible and Grissom usually wouldn’t see him for the rest of the shift. He would have given his entire specimen collection to know what was going on in the younger man’s head. Truth be told, while the younger man’s work wasn’t suffering, Grissom was getting tired of the constant dodging. He’d done his observing, gathered his data, and formulated a hypothesis. Strange as his conclusion was, it was time to see if there was any truth to it. 

Nick was down in the evidence lab going over the burned out car that was their latest crime scene when Grissom tracked him down. He had headphones in and was leaned into the back seat; the suspected ignition zone for the fire that had killed their victim. Grissom used the distraction to his advantage, leaning into the doorway and just watching. Nick was humming softly to whatever song was playing as he capped off his swabs and bagged the last few fibers, climbing out of the car and jumping when he turned to see Grissom watching him. The older man bit back a chuckle, forcing his face to remain passive. “Hello Nick,” he said, not moving from the doorway and conveniently blocking the only way out of the lab. 

The younger CSI stood there like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes wide and cheeks slightly pink beneath the smudges of soot that had rubbed off his gloves. Blinking a few times, his features shifted into the friendly but blank smile he often gave Sara or Warrick when he wasn’t in the mood for their questions. “Hey, Grissom! What brings you down here? Did you need something?” Instead of standing around waiting for the response, Nick turned to lay the collected samples on the metal tray, stripping off his gloves and fiddling idly with stray supplies. Grissom stared holes into his back until the younger man finally turned around again. “What did you find?” the older man asked, studying the way Nick was forcing himself to remain relaxed and nonchalaunt. 

“Well, I found some unusual staining right behind the driver’s seat that could possibly be our ignition source, but Greg or Billy should be able to tell me for sure. It would suck if it just turned out to be ketchup or diet coke, ya know? I also found some half melted fibers that look a bit like nylon or maybe a polyester blend, and I know our victim wasn’t wearing anything like that, so I figure maybe it could have come from our killer or something. I was just about to deliver these, so if you didn’t need anything else…” Picking up the tray, Nick dodged past the older Criminologist and started down the hall.  _ Now or never, Grissom,  _ he told himself, knowing that if he let the young Texan reach the end of the hall, he’d not get this chance again. “Nick, hang on a second,” he called, but the other man kept walking. Taking a breath, he stepped out into the hall and tried again, putting in all the authority helping out with his young cousins had given him behind his words. “Young man, you will stop when I am talking to you.”

The reaction was instantaneous. The retreating man froze, back and shoulders stiff as boards. “Turn around, Nicky. Look at me when I’m talking to you.” The reaction was slow, like maybe if he took long enough Grissom would get bored and leave him be.  _ No such luck, kiddo, _ Grissom thought as the younger man finally faced his direction. He was bright red from collar to the tips of his ears, eyes suspiciously damp as he focused them on the ground between their feet. “Come here, Nicky,” Grissom said, voice softening. Nick shuffled toward him, fingers white against the cold metal of the tray. Once he was close enough, Grissom reached out and took the tray, setting it down on a spare cart and taking the younger man’s trembling hands. “Nicky, look at me.” Bloodshot brown eyes flickered to meet him through thick lashes. “I think we need to talk.” 

______________________________

Grissom led the distressed young man into his office and drew the blinds before motioning the Texan to take a seat on the couch. “So…” he started, sitting at the other end. “Do you want to talk? Or do you want me to?” Nick shook his head, eyes glued to his shoes. Grissom sat back with a quiet sigh. “Alright, how about this. I give you my findings, and you tell me if I’m right. Sound good?” Bloodshot eyes flickered up briefly as the young man nodded, but his mouth remained glued shut, Adam's apple bobbing. Grissom took it as a sign to continue. “You’ve been back to that store specializing in age play paraphernalia, haven’t you.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement, but after a moment he received the barest of nods in response. “The woman from the store came and visited you in the hospital. She brought you flowers, and a stuffed bunny. A bunny I saw your niece playing with the next day. At first I thought maybe she’d brought it for Jenny, but then I saw the way you were watching her with it. The toy wasn’t for your niece, was it. It was for you.” 

Nick seemed to curl in on himself the longer Grissom talked, arms crossed protectively over his stomach like he might be sick.  _ He just might, _ the older man thought, catching the way white-knuckled hands trembled against the dark shirt he wore, Adam's apple bobbing as the younger man swallowed repeatedly. “Nicky, is Madge helping you participate in age play?” The flush instantly dropped from Nick’s face, leaving him a clammy shade of grey that made the entomologist worry he was about to have a distressed and  _ unconscious _ Texan on his hands. Leaning forward, he gently took hold of hunched shoulders, feeling muscles tense beneath. “Nicky, look at me,” he said, pressing at the shoulders until the younger man’s upper half was faced in his general direction. Brown eyes remained studiously glued to the ground, however. 

Grissom bit back a sigh. The younger man was acting  _ exactly  _ like a petulant child. He leaned in a bit closer, bending his head to try and look under the fringe of dark bangs. “Nicky, I’m not mad. I’m not disgusted either. I just want to help. You can trust me, Nicky.” Watery brown eyes met his, wide with shock as a quick mind tried to process the words Grissom had just said. “Help?” he asked, voice dripping in quiet disbelief. Grissom nodded, offering a comforting smile. “Yeah, Nicky. I want to help. I can only assume that whatever you’ve been doing, you’ve been doing it with Madge. I want to offer my services as an alternative. That is, if you want.” 

Nick was staring at him, mouth slightly gaped in surprise. Grissom waited patiently, keeping his eyes locked on the younger man’s face, practically watching the gears in his head clicking over. “You want to  _ help,”  _ he asked, voice more a croak than the smooth tenor it normally was. “Help how?” 

Grissom had thought about that question frequently since he’d made his decision to confront the younger man. He was sure when Nick started realizing something was going on he’d started doing his research; Grissom had too. He made sure he had the right response when Nick asked. “Basically I want to be your caregiver,” he said, watching Nick’s face for any signs of changes. “I want to give you the option of someone closer, someone who understands what might trigger you, and someone you can come to when it does happen. I understand if you want to continue your… sessions with Madge, but I want you to know you have someone else you can trust with this, too.” 

Some of the color had come back into Nick’s face, but he could still feel the hammering of the younger man’s heart through the grip he’d maintained on one narrow shoulder. Brown eyes were still a little red as they studied his face for any signs of deception, but the younger man no longer looked on the verge of a breakdown. The two were silent for a long time, each studying the man in front of him. Nick was the one who finally broke it. “You’re serious, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question, but Grissom nodded anyway. “I’d noticed the way you’d changed the last few months. You seemed happier, more relaxed. Whatever it was you were doing, it was obviously helping.” 

Nick’s cheeks turned a little pink and he nodded. “Yeah, it did. I just… Everyone always assumes that when you’re the youngest, you’re the baby and the world revolves around you. I was the youngest of  _ six.  _ Annalise was already five years old when I was born. I was an accident. I was loved, taken care of, but both my parents were involved with their careers and most of my siblings with school and their own friends, and I just… I guess I never really  _ got  _ my childhood while I was a kid. What Eiger did was disgusting beyond anything we’ve seen in this job, but when we were in the store interviewing Madge, I guess I just saw some of the draw to it. I went back later and she agreed to talk to me, answer my questions. She’d had a-- she’d had someone like me for a long time, and she agreed that if I was interested, she’d help me get comfortable with the idea of it all. It was really weird at first, but then it got kinda fun.” 

The younger man trailed off with a shrug, eyes dropping to his hands. “If you’re serious about this, Gris, I need to know. Madge doesn’t want another Little. She agreed to help me as long as I wanted, but she doesn’t want to be my…  _ Mommy _ , I guess is what they’re technically called. She told me she’s really more of a Nanny, but that she’s willing to be that as long as necessary. Gris, if you’re serious, I  _ need  _ you to be serious.” Nick had met his eyes again, dark brown made darker with the seriousness of his tone. Grissom nodded. “Nicky, I never would have said anything if I wasn’t serious. I’ve done my research too, and I’ve talked with your parents. I would be honored to get the chance to know Nicky Stokes the same way I’ve gotten to know Nick Stokes.” 

The young CSI searched his boss’s face for any signs of deception and, after finding none, slowly nodded. “Alright. We can give this a try. Do you want to, ah, come over? After work? We can do breakfast and talk some things over?” Grissom nodded in return, a smile curling his lips. “Sounds perfect,” he replied. When Nick smiled back, Grissom could catch the shadow of the kid locked away in the body of a grown man with a big heart. A kid Grissom was excited to get to know.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Grissom was stirring a pot of soup when he heard a soft sneeze from behind him. Smiling fondly, he set down the spoon and turned to see Nicky leaning against the doorway dressed in a too-big t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants with robots all over them. His nose was red and his eyes glassy, and as Grissom watched him he gave a tired sniff. It was absolutely adorable, and Grissom thought for what was probably the hundredth time that he truly was so incredibly lucky. “Hey sweet boy,” he said, keeping his voice low in mind of the headache the boy had been fighting most of the day. “What are you doing out of bed?” 

Nicky shuffled his sock-clad feet, leaning more of his weight into the doorway. “Missed you,” he mumbled, words muffled and slurred just enough to make Grissom worry that the fever was making a reappearance. Turning down the stove, the older man turned and walked over, pulling the boy against him and pressing his lips against an almost too warm forehead. He’d need a thermometer to decide whether it was from sleep or fever. “I’m sorry, Nicky. I was just making you some soup, I didn’t expect you to wake up so soon. Are you feeling okay?” He felt the little boy shrug, fingers wound into the back of Grissom’s shirt. “My tummy hurts,” he mumbled into the entomologist’s chest. Grissom rubbed at his back comfortingly. “What kind of hurt? Like you’re hungry? Like a tummy ache? Or like you think you’re going to throw up?” 

The boy shrugged and shook his head, sweat dampened hair tickling Grissom’s neck. “Like a tummy ache,” he finally replied.  _ Not nausea, then _ , Grissom thought, running blunt nails through his boy’s hair.  _ That means this bug isn’t progressing.  _ Nick had been fighting it for nearly a week, and it had just caught up to him the other day. He’d woken achy and feverish but had told Grissom he was fine. That night at work, however, the older man had noticed the way he was wincing under the harsh lab lights and made the executive decision that they were taking off early. Who knew one witness with the case of the sniffles would have laid out the Texan so bad. 

Pressing a palm against a warm cheek, he tilted the boy’s head until he could look into his eyes. Glassy and unfocused but not teary, nose rubbed red and raw, lips chapped. His skin was hot but not clammy anymore, so Grissom suspected that his boy’s body was just finishing its fight with the infection and he’d be back on his feet in no time. “Do you feel hungry at all?” he asked, not taking his eyes from the Texan’s face. Nicky shook his head, eyes starting to droop as he leaned more of his weight into Grissom. “Nuh uh,” he mumbled before his face was split open by a wide yawn. 

Chuckling, Grissom secured his grip on the boy and started half leading half dragging him back to the bedroom. “Come on, Nicky. Bedtime for sleepy boys. If you’re feeling better when you wake up I’ll reheat some soup, alright?” The nod he received was more of a loll of the head than an actual nod, its owner already mostly asleep again. Grissom still couldn’t get over Nick when he was like this. It had been nearly four months since Grissom had made his proposition, and they’d reached the point where neither of them could think why they hadn’t done it sooner. Grissom had discovered quickly that he loved being a Caretaker to Nicky. He was such a sweet and loving kid, not so different from the young man Grissom worked with in the Lab. 

The sheets were a tangled mess at the foot of the bed, so after Grissom had laid Nicky down, he set about unwinding them and pulling them up over the sick boy. Stepping back and realizing they were missing a bedmate, he quickly but carefully searched the pillows and floor for the fuzzy lagomorph. When they’d first been getting started, they primarily stayed at Nick’s apartment. As things progressed, they began switching back and forth between their houses, but after one too many times where Lenny was left at the wrong place, they decided the younger man’s place would be their primary. 

Grissom finally spotted one fraying ear sticking out between the mattress and the wall. Pulling it out, he tucked it into the dozing boy’s lax arms before disappearing long enough to turn off the stove before returning and climbing into bed behind his boy. He pulled Nicky back into him, mildly worried by how out of it the kid was. Normally he was like a heatseeker, turning into Grissom as soon as the older man was within proximity. Wrapping him in his arms, he pressed a soft kiss to one temple, relieved when the temperature had seemed to drop a bit.  _ Probably just exhaustion, _ he figured, propping his chin on the soft brown locks. 

The boy in his arms shifted, pressing back into Grissom’s chest with a happy sigh. “Love you, Grisco,” he mumbled, breath evening into a deep if slightly rattly rhythm. Grissom smiled and closed his eyes. “I love you too, Nicky,” he whispered. 

~FIN~

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! Kudos and comments are loved!  
> XOXO HidingintheInkwell


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